Dysfunctional
by Fleeting Wonderland
Summary: "Your left hand has been on her right hipbone this entire time. And I'm unsure. What can the two of you pull off?" Cato and Clove attempt to find out how to act during their interviews. Arguments ensue. Content: strong sexual suggestion and language.


It had been an hour they were on on the train, and Clove had remained quiet nearly the entire time. Instead of getting caught up in whatever frivolous drama that had happened at the other reapings, she instead decided to stay within her own mind. Visualize her tactics. Think of her upcoming victory.

Besides the incessant chatter of the obnoxious District two escort, Amabel Marley, the train compartment was mostly quiet. When Amabel decided Cato and Clove had enough behavioral rules and quick etiquette lessons, including 'don't punch people in the face' and 'we don't call each other by surnames, as I heard you're both prone to' she had gone off somewhere to 'get her beauty sleep for the big journey ahead!' That left four people - Cato and Clove, as well as Delphine and Rainer, the mentors for this year. They had all breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief the second the door to the lunch car whizzed shut behind her.

Of course she noticed Cato's hand on her thigh under the table. She had noticed the second he had set it there. She had summarily elected to ignore it, though. Her head was instead filled with techniques, rushing with scores, and recounting each day she had spent training, up to the moment where Amabel Marley had called her name out and she stepped forward, a glare to the crowd encouraging Marilla Vega to back down from being the chosen tribute.

(She had come to Clove after the reaping, threatening death for stealing her spotlight. Clove had smiled and insisted she didn't want to go in anyway, because she didn't even have a chance. Marilla had given her a steely look and said she wouldn't win against Cato because she obviously liked him too much to kill him. Marilla had left with blood dripping down her face of a broken nose and bruises blooming on her shins from multiple kicks from a pair of pointy-toed high heels, humiliated.)

"So... Delphine, what's our platform going to be?" Cato spoke, looking towards the thin brunette sitting on his left who was currently sharpening her already razor-sharp fingernails silver cutting knife. His tone wasn't urgent, but instead lazy, as though he knew he was going to win, even without a solid platform.

Delphine Saxon was tall, skinny to the point of boniness, with thin brown hair to the small of her back. Her skin was coppery, her eyes were blue, and her face looked worn with time. Her fingernails were painted peach, though it was whittled down on the ends to the natural white - her nails were her trademark, having sharpened them down with a pumice stone she found in the arena. Her victory had come from her slashing the neck of the male tribute she had been up against with a knife, with the final blow from her nails. Even though she was only about twenty-eight, Delphine had mentored three times in the rotation of mentors (otherwise arguments would break out) and had a tribute win each time, and held herself in rather high regard.

Delphine looked up, bemused at his inquiry. "Well, Cato - since you and Clove already obviously know each other very well," She used this second to raise her finger to make Cato not interrupt, "Don't try to lie, I can tell by your body language. Your left hand has been on her right hipbone this entire time. And I'm unsure. What can the two of you pull off?"

Cato looked infuriated. Clove remained quiet, though her back became straighter and her jaw raised towards Delphine in an obvious challenge. They were obviously more than acquaintances, she could tell simply by the way they hadn't complained about sitting near each other. The way their hands lingered after shaking onstage during the reaping. Even the subtle purple mark on her collarbone that peeked out from under a lump of Clove's hair was telling to what relationship the two really had.

Rainer Cimon, the obviously more subtle of the two mentors, grinned a bit at Delphine's blunt notice. The scratches in his face became much more pronounced when he smiled - his skin looked unnaturally stretched across his face, as though there was barely enough to cover his bones. His face couldn't show joy - though he smiled, his eyes were dark and parts of his left forehead were speckled white and green. (In the arena, part of his face had burned off due to acidic rain. His brown skin was still stained with spots of green, mainly winding around his right arm - he had been sleeping on his left side when the rainfall had happened.) Rainer was older, maybe a few years past fifty-five, but was still perfectly in shape. His black hair was graying and there were noticeable wrinkles in his forehead, but his posture was straight and he carried himself with dignity.

"Delph, I bet by the looks of 'em they could pull of a couple. Dysfunctional, sure. But they could probably pull it together enough to seem romantic. They have that whole," Rainer surrounded this in air quotes "'Lovebird look' between 'em, you know. The way they look at each other? They care about each other. Obviously more than most other people." Delphine nodded thoughtfully, while Clove's face morphed into a look of obvious unhappiness. "Don't look so happy, Clove."

"I definitely see it. You share some connection, no matter how deranged it might be. And I can read people pretty well, I always have. Most people wouldn't even notice the way you instinctively lean towards each other. But me and Rainer do," Delphine chimed in, smiling slightly. She surveyed the two of them thoughtfully. "In my games, the district six tributes went with a love story. In fact, the audience ate it up so much I battled the male for the victory. I won, of course, I'm still here, but he got a lot of resources with the way he wanted to 'win for her' and 'tell her family how much he loved her.' It was great to cut his vocal chords. He died crying about his 'precious Azalea.' Pathetic, but the Capitol eats it up." Her mouth pulled to one side, as though she were thinking.

Rainer let out a chuckle. "We could take it a step further, get her a fake engagement ring. Advertise them as bound together. They'd love it."

Cato looked down at her, a smirk plastered on his lips. "Yeah, Clove. We could pull it off. Clove Haldur. Has a nice ring to it, eh?"

Clove gave him a solid glare. "I am never going to kiss you in public, and I know that's part of the deal, isn't it? Besides, we are not together, nor will we ever be."

Delphine shrugged, Rainer nodded, and Cato continued smirking. "Well, you like it when we're alone. You wouldn't even have to fake it, Mowriyah. And not officially." He grabbed her right shoulder and swung his arm around them in an over exaggerated 'couple' way. He rubbed the back of her neck, and she smiled. Their eyes met and his eyebrow cocked, asking a silent question. She smirked in response, their faces somewhat mirroring each other.

"Nice scratches on the back of your neck there, Haldur. Wonder where they came from," Clove challenged, smirking. "Doesn't look like any weapon scratch... Wait, it matches my fingernails. Oops."

Delphine and Rainer exchanged a tired look. "Guys, I don't think this is the best time to be-" Delphine paused for a second, contemplating her next words very carefully. "Challenging each other? You guys have to focus. Get an actual platform."

"I honestly don't think we can sell 'em as a couple, Delph. They'll probably threaten to tie each other down onstage and have sex right there." Clove's mouth gaped. "Clove, the way you two're talkin' is similar to how Amabel and her husband back in the Capitol do. Of course, less scratching and more kissing, but generally the same."

"We haven't fucked. I swear to God we haven't," Clove maintained, glaring at Cato as daring him to go against her word. "I scratched him up during training. Nothing more."

"But we did, Clove. Did you already forget last night? You screaming and tearing up my back with your fingernails? Oh, and the bruise I left right," he moved a clump of hair covering part of her left collarbone to the side. "Here."

A purple bruise on her collarbone that had hastily had a sort of concealer dabbed on top of it was apparent. It was fairly fresh-looking, and it was obviously fairly new, but it was there, and it didn't look like any sort of battle marking either.

"That's it, pretty boy, you're leaving this train right now. Either by death or you're jumping off," Clove insisted, punching him in the shoulder hard enough to make him noticeably wince. "I don't even like you!" She threw her body weight against him, expectantly sending him tumbling out of the booth the four of them were seated at.

She landed legs on top of his chest, aware the only reason she had been able to tackle him was the element of surprise. If he had even braced himself the tiniest bit, she wouldn't have moved him an inch. Weight and height differences were unfair, she inwardly mused.

His grin widened as Rainer and Delphine shared a partially amused, partially horrified look. "Yeah, she likes me. Maybe she even loves me. I'm the only one who's ever gotten to touch her, anyway. See," he quipped to Rainer, who was studying them with interest.

Clove responded by attempting to punch his left cheek in rage, but he deflected it, holding her wrist down to her side. "That's fucking private, jackass," she whispered with anger, quietly enough so that Delphine nor Rainer would hear. "I hate you."

"Yeah, sweetie, I know," he joked. The warning look in her eyes said 'stop calling me sweetie or die.' He smartly chose the former.

"I'm not getting involved in this, kid. Sorry, my Games are won and I'm not interested in getting knifed in my sleep. Unlike you," Rainer replied, a hint of teasing in his voice. "This girl could probably kill you in a second. If, y'know, she wasn't so small."

Delphine glared at him. "You're no help, and she probably still could. Move," she said, getting out of the booth and lunging towards the still entwined duo. "Get - off - of - him!" Delphine, said trying to pull an uncooperative Clove off an unhelpful and provoking Cato. "You both need to focus! Pick a personality! Any personality, I don't care! Just focus," Delphine fumed, finally pulling Clove off of Cato and grabbing her wrists together behind her back. "Don't ruin my perfect mentoring record of three. Irena was difficult, Cyprian was a prick, and I'm still lost on how Crispus even survived that stab in his shoulder, but you two are definitely the most insane, deranged tributes I've had the misfortune of looking after. Anyways, Enobaria's up as mentor next year and she'll never shut up about it if one of you doesn't win."

Clove made a noise remarkably similar to a growl. "I don't care about you, or Enobaria, I just want this fuckwad dead!" Delphine let go of her wrists, and Clove spun on her heels to look at her.

Cato grinned, rising to his feet. "She can't keep her hands off me, what can I say?" he quipped, gesturing towards Rainer. Clove glared at him.

Rainer finally rose to his feet, and gave Cato a tired look. "Cato, you're going to go with how you usually act. That is... Cocky, obviously, but strong. Intense. You can pull that off." He looked exasperated, his gaze occasionally flickering towards the door, possibly in hope of Amabel returning and restoring order.

Cato nodded. "Sounds good to me. I'm just as great in real life as I'll be in the interview." Rainer rolled his eyes in response.

Delphine looked out the windows lining the car and took a deep breath. "Clove, we're going to go with, believe it or not, the cute platform. Y'know, like those bimbos from one who try to sell their sex appeal?"

"Clove doesn't have sex appeal," Cato inserted himself, smirking. Clove responded with a withering glare.

Delphine gave him solid glare as well, then continued. "We're not doing that. We're going to dress you up in pink and ruffles and all that, you're going to be all polite and nice, then you're going to go into the arena and kill people and stuff. We're using the element of surprise. It'll be fun. The audience'll love it."

"You lost me at 'pink and ruffles,'" Clove responded, looking less than thrilled. "And I don't exactly... 'Do' nice," she continued, fixing her hair to cover the still apparent hickey (bruise, she later insisted to Delphine. _Right, _she had responded).

"Well, you're going to have to. The Capitol's never really liked the scrappy girls who can kill people, let me tell you. My mentor at the time, Aurelia, told me nothing. I got nothing from sponsors. I scavenged. Like the scum from twelve or nine. It was embarrassing and I nearly died of starvation. When I won, she told me it was because I presented myself as threatening. I'm not letting you make the same mistake."

Clove was unamused. "Fine. I'll do it. But I won't be happy about it. And you -" she turned to Cato, who still looked amused at the thought of Clove attempting to wear pink and be sweet. "Will say shit about it. Keep your big mouth shut for once."

"I knew you liked me," he responded, still smirking.

Delphine shot him a warning look. "On that note, please refrain from fucking each other. At least, try not to do it loudly. That'll get you a reputation in a second, Clove," Delphine said tiredly.

"Just me? What the hell?" Clove raised an eyebrow, and her posture slumped forwards, as though she were a zombie.

"Rumors get out. You'll be weak for actually feeling-" she shook her hands in a haphazard gesture. "Anything. Whatever you feel for... Jackass over there? It won't fly. You've gotta be blank. He'll be strong, you'll be stupid. You can't get caught here. Or you're on your own." Delphine sat down on the edge of the booth where she and Rainer had silently sat minutes before. "It's stupid. But girls who win have to be a lot more careful, y'know? Finnick from Four's had sex with half the Capitol, but it's fine for him. Cause he's a guy and 'hot' or whatever. Just be on your best behavior, guys. Please."

Rainer cleared his throat. "Well, as well as your best behavior is. Don't kill anyone is what I'm asking. Refraining from punching each other in the face would be good too."

"Get in there, tear 'em apart. Destroy them all," Delphine concluded, covering her eyes with her right forearm while scratching at the mahogany table with her long fingernails. The conversation was obviously over.

Until Amabel stumbled in, her makeup smeared and hair disheveled. "Um, Cato? Clove? You might want to see this," she said in her silly accent, barely decipherable to Clove's ears, snapping her fingers to lower the television from the ceiling. Speaking the command to go to the reaping of District 12, the television flickered and switched to the network set up once a year for 12, specifically for the Capitol to tune into all of the reapings, likely to make bets.

"Let's watch it again, Poppy," agreed a man with bright violet hair to his co-anchor, who looked as though she had had an unfortunate accident with some crimson paint.

The screen went black for a second, then -

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The screen flickered back to the anchors, who started to hypothesize what had led her to volunteer for the little blonde girl - her sister, apparently - as Delphine, Rainer, and Amabel shared a worried look. Cato gripped Clove's left fingertips, his face creased and calculating. He was obviously ticked off about something.

And Clove's carefully concocted plan to victory - ally the Careers, kill off the lesser tributes, then make Cato beg while carefully slitting his throat with a knife while wiping his blood on her face as war paint, lastly going home a victor - started to crumble before her eyes.

* * *

This was adapted from a headcanon of mine! I am always open to constructive critism and any type of feedback. My tumblr url is edgeofathunderstorm, which is the best way to get in contact with me. Hope you enjoyed,

Mara.


End file.
